For a Lover of Long Ago
by vkdemon
Summary: The love story of Alan Deaton and Chris Argent told in five acts.
1. Romeo and Juliet

**Title**: Romeo and Juliet  
**Authors**: **vkdemon** and **karomeled**  
**Fandom**: Teen Wolf  
**Pairing**: Alan Deaton/ Chris Argent  
**Genre**: pre-canon, angst  
**Rating**: M  
**Words**: 2 406  
**Warnings**: slight d/s leanings  
**Summary**: _He draws the bowstring close to his face, letting the feather tickle his cheek like his mother taught him. The arrow whistles through the space, cutting in half the stale air of the old barn and digs into the wooden wall three inches from Alan's face._ The love story of Alan and Chris told in five acts.  
**AN**: Part 1 of "For a Lover of Long Ago" series.

_"__O serpent heart hid with a flowering face!_  
_Did ever a dragon keep so fair a cave?_  
_Beautiful tyrant, feind angelical, dove feather raven, wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of devinest show, just opposite to what thou justly seemest - A dammed saint, an honourable villain!"_

He draws the bowstring close to his face, letting the feather tickle his cheek like his mother taught him. _Aim and release_. The arrow whistles through the space, cutting in half the stale air of the old barn and digs into the wooden wall three inches from Alan's face.

He jumps off the loft and smirks.

"I will curse you." Alan Deaton, dark skin smooth and free of the lines of worry that would pain him as he aged, glares at the arrow and snags it from the wall. "If this is your idea of a joke..."

"No, this is my idea of saying that you're getting sloppy," the archer rolls his eyes. "You didn't even notice me, did you? And you can quit with the cursing threats, you barely stopped your puppy from shredding you to pieces," he openly glared.

"Beth Hale is a friend." He returns the glare before rubbing his forehead. "I noticed you, my friend, but I don't expect friends to shoot at me." He produces a 6 pack of beer. "In fact, I think I should keep these to myself."

"But it's okay for a friend to try to eat you?" The boy says and carefully places his bow on the counter of an old table. He isn't going to let go that easily. Chris crosses his arms over his chest eyeing the alcohol. "Why do you even hang out with her? She's so lame."

"I had wolfsbane dust on my hands from helping with her brother's tattoo. She freaked." Alan wiggles the alcohol, happy he had covered-up the bruises from Beth's lunge. "You're the boy looking like Robin Hood. Lameness."

"Watch it. That bow costs more than all of your weed." Chris snatches the offered bottle and drops on the ground next to Alan.

"Fancy." Alan moves to nudge Chris' shoulder. "So how long before you have more insane training? Is daddy planning to drop you in a well and make you climb back out? I'd say learning about horticulture is far less dangerous even with the werewolves."

Chris sighs and relaxes against the wall, welcoming the acrid taste in his mouth. "I don't know. I'm a good shoot already," he says combatively. "And what is more dangerous than weres?"

"Your sister's tantrums." Alan quips as he opens his own beer. His body lounges mostly against Chris, enjoying the nearness even if the hunter always has to bring up his werewolf friends.

The young Argent snorts. "Yeah. Maybe. She's going to lead us all some day, can you imagine?" His head rests against Alan's. "Unless I find a wife first."

"I'll need to find a new profession. She won't stop at shooting the wolves." Alan bites his lower lip as he dares to slip his arm around Chris' lower back.

"Jesus, Alan, she's six. You don't know what she's gonna do when she grows up," Chris snaps. The need to protect his family name ss too deeply ingrained in his mind to allow the comment even from his best friend. "And don't give me some aura bullshit."

Deaton sighs and slides his arm away. "Aura is only part of the problem. There's also the little issue with her enjoying kicking the terrier I was rehabilitating with dad."

Chris puts the bottle down and adverts his eyes. "Whatever. We have our code. You'll still be able to stick over your cauldron as long as you like."

"You know how I loooove witch jokes. Why the hell am I friends with you?" Alan shoves himself off Chris' shoulder. He hates fighting over their families problems.

The corner of Chris' mouth quirks involuntarily. "Witch _jokes? _You mean you don't really live in a grim ancient house with dessicated animal organs hanging from the ceiling and big cauldron boiling some green substance in the middle?"

"Nope. But I do make some nasty pipe bombs. Oh wait... That's hunters." Alan sasses back with his mouth set in a thin line.

Chris' smile falls from his face at the reminder. "Then why the hell are you friends with _me_?" He grabs the bottle and takes a large gulp.

"Because when we're not talking supernatural politics you're one of my best friends. But since we can't hang out and have beers without bringing it up I'll just go back and roast up some frog livers."

"Sure. Maybe some of your beisty friend would be a nicer company," Chris regrets it as soon as he says it but his jaw is still set tense and eyes glaring and he is not going to back away, not now, not ever, he's as much an Argent as his sister after all.

"Maybe I should take her up on the offer for diner and the movies." Of course it would have been a 'I'm sorry for accidentally mauling you' date but Chris doesn't need to know that.

"What are you waiting for?" Chris growls and neither of them moves an inch.

"Nothing obviously." Alan snaps, not breaking Chris' gaze. "I'm tired of this. So fucking tired of your bullshit prejudice. If you took a second to look at me, just me and not my family or what yours says..."

Chris snarls in irritation and smashes their lips together, holding Alan's face in place with his hands and waiting for him to submit to the kiss, to stop talking, fighting and seeing other people and be his, his only, to finally see he's Alan's only real friend, the one who wouldn't just lose control and hurt him, who lives to protect people like Alan from monsters.

Alan groans and falls into the kiss. Chris is always like this, stubborn, prideful, and so obsessed with the damned code. The Deatons had been protectors of the ancient knowledge and help to supernatural peoples for generations. He can't understand seeing the wolves as anything but people. He wraps an arm around Chris' neck to keep the man on him. Alan breaks the kiss for a moment. "Shirt off, now."

Chris reaches for the edge of his clothing and pulls it over his head not even complaining about being bossed around. The late fall air cools his skin and he knows that soon they'll have to find a different place for this. _If it's going to last, _runs through his mind and he attacks Alan's clothes with a new fervor, tearing the shirt from his pants.

The young Deaton knows his friend is going to be on him in no time. "Chris." He traces the thick muscle of Chris' shoulder. He just has to kiss at it before nipping hard enough to leave a mark.

Chris breaths out, fingers clenching on Alan's hips. He rolls his hips, rubbing over the man's groin slowly, careful not to speed things up too much. He wants to devour and taste and make Alan fall apart and remember and still be sour when he meets his werewolves. The already existing bruises earn the dark-skinned boy a warning growl, and Chris teases them viciously with his fingers. "She merely _freaked out_, is that right?" His voice is low and dangerous and Alan must know he's going to pay for Beth's attack all over again.

The witch smacks Chris across the back of his head. "Bastard. It's fine. I'm fine." He tries to pull away and hide the mottled bruising of his chest. Chris' possessiveness is hot, most days, but not on this issue.

Chris grabs his hands and pins them over Alan's head. "Did you just hit me?" He murmurs against Alan's jaw and scratches over the bone with his teeth. His hips pick up the pace over the other man's. "How rude," he says searing his teeth over Alan's throat.

Alan shivers and arches up under Chris' teeth. The Argent is always intense. Alan bites down on his lower lip. "Yeah... What are you going to do about it?"

"Whatever I want," Chris smiles down on him and leanes back, releasing his arms. "Get your pants off."

"Pushy." Alan fumbles for a moment with his belt. He pushes his hips up toward Chris'. "Help me out."

Chris tugs the jeans harshly off him and cups the bulge in his underwear, massaging it through the material. "Let's see if tonight you're going to blow too soon again," he smiles cruelly and pulls the thin clothing off.

"Asshole." Alan would have loved to deny it, but he's come early more than once under Chris' insistent fingers. "Chris, come on, I need you."

"Of course inow/i you need me," Chris says and leans in to tongue at Alan's stomach. His lips slide around the pubic hair and tease the sensitive flesh of the boy's pelvis. He brings a hand to Alan's cock and presses the organ against his cheek, rubbing it over it.

"Fuck." The witch thrusts up, leaving a line of precome across his cheekbone. Alan's voice drops as his face heats. "Chris. Please."

"What are you asking for?" He looks up at the man with satisfaction.

"Your mouth. On me." Alan's palms press into the ground as he strains to keep himself from fighting back.

Chris lips brush up the hard shaft and caress the glans. He licks it, slowly twirling his tongue around the edge and dipping into the slit. "And what do we say when friends grant our wish?"

"Hurry up, Dickhead?" He can't help it. Alan has always had a snarky streak. His father is the same. You take the world in stride when it has sick werewolves and touchy hunters in it.

Chris smiles against the organ and leans back. His hand closes around it in a loose grip. "How about a 'thank you'?"

"Nah. I don't give gratitude for a job unfinished." He lifts an eyebrow and pushes himself up on his hands.

"Too bad," Chris murmurs and lets his cock out of his hand. He wraps hands around Alan's neck, one thumb resting on his trachea, and he goes back to kissing him, hard and gentle and slow too, changing the angle and pace whenever he likes. He expects Alan to take care of himself when they're like this.

Alan growls, but the sound is lost against Chris' mouth. He nearly loses himself in that place of bliss. His leaking cock keeps him focused. One hand goes between them and cups over Chris' fabric covered cock and presses his heel inward.

Chris' response is instantaneous. He grips the wrist and holds pinned it by Alan's side, the other hand still firm against the boy's throat. He doesn't allow him to touch tonight.

"For fuck sake. It's barely an injury. It was my stupid fault for not washing up after handling the wolfs-bane. I was trying to finish faster so I could get here and see you!"

Chris slides his hand into Alan's hair and grabs a handful, exposing the lean, dark neck. "So it's my fault then? For rushing you up?" He straddles the other boy, their stomachs meet and between them Alan's cock is trapped. Not enough to make him come, but sufficient to torture.

"Nnnn." Alan tries to buck up. He desperately writhes, but the Argent has him pinned too well. "Fuck. Yes."

"Because I let those like her walk around free," Chris accepts the words as a defeat and his teeth come back to bite under Alan's ear, molding his captive's words into a pained yelp. He presses against him, drives his hips back and forth chafing the boy's shaft with his pants. "You can come."

"Hate you. I hate you. I hate you!" Alan seizes under the Argent, coming over his stomach and Chris' pants. For once he plans to have a normal night with the hunter's son. But no, it always descends into this, fighting over ideals and Chris taking control. Still... the bliss that covers his body is worth it.

They lay on the dirty ground afterwards, Alan coming down from the pleasant haze and Chris calms down too. "I'm going to college next summer," he breaks the silence hoping Alan will read it for what it is.

"Going out of state to find that wife?" Alan can't look toward Chris. It is only a short time before the end of their teen years in Beacon Hills. He knew Chris wouldn't stay his for much longer, even if it's what he longs for. "Make sure to check if she has a gun licence."

"I need to broaden my horizons," he repeats his father's words.

"Way to quote, Gerard." Alan knows exactly who's pushing Chris' buttons. "What if I fight? What if I tell everyone what we've done together?"

Chris sits up and looks down on him. Part of him wants to exchange a threat for a threat, the other is stunned at the prospect of being fought for. "Then you could never count on a next time," he says calmly after all.

Alan closes his eyes against the tears. "So, it's lose you now or lose you later. Fine choice you give me."

Chris scoffs, stand up and turns away. He puts his shirt back on, hiding the drying come underneath, and makes sure his voice is harsh enough to hide the broken tone. "You can't lose something you never had, Deaton."

The family name is a slap in the face, a reminder of how little he ever mattered to Chris. Or at least that's what the Argent wants him to believe. He pushes himself up, refusing to be lower than his coward of a former lover. Despite being fully naked, he puts off an aura of calm control. "You're right. I can't have what was never offered. Then of course you can't let yourself give anything to anyone. I do hope you find a wife that fits the life you think you want. Maybe then you'll find a way to be happy in the cage you made."

Chris' fingers still against the buttons of his shirt. The boys stand there, silent and still, until he throws a "See you later, witch." over his shoulder. Chris grabs his arrow and walks away without a second look.

"Let's hope not, hunter."


	2. MacBeth

**Title**: MacBeth  
**Authors**: **vkdemon** and **karomeled**  
**Fandom**: Teen Wolf  
**Pairing**: Alan Deaton/ Chris Argent  
**Genre**: pre-canon, angst  
**Rating**: M  
**Words**: 1 600  
**Warnings**: slight d/s leanings, mentions of homicide  
**Summary**: _11 people trapped. 11 people burning alive._

_Alan Deaton was at his veterinary shop when the radio announced the fire. The bag of dog food crashed to the floor, sending pebbles everywhere._

The love story of Alan and Chris told in five acts.  
**AN**: Part 2 of "For a Lover of Long Ago" series.

"_O serpent heart hid with a flowering face!  
Did ever a dragon keep so fair a cave?  
Beautiful tyrant, feind angelical, dove feather raven, wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of devinest show, just opposite to what thou justly seemest - A dammed saint, an honourable villain!"_- MacBeth

He draws the bowstring close to his face, letting the feather tickle his cheek like his mother taught him. Aim and release. The arrow whistles through the space, cutting in half the stale air of the old barn and digs into the wooden wall three inches from Alan's face.

He jumps off the loft and smirks.

"I will curse you." Alan Deaton, dark skin smooth and free of the lines of worry that would pain him as he aged, glares at the arrow and snags it from the wall. "If this is your idea of a joke..."

"No, this is my idea of saying that you're getting sloppy," the archer rolls his eyes. "You didn't even notice me, did you? And you can quit with the cursing threats, you barely stopped your puppy from shredding you to pieces," he openly glared.

"Beth Hale is a friend." He returns the glare before rubbing his forehead. "I noticed you, my friend, but I don't expect friends to shoot at me." He produces a 6 pack of beer. "In fact, I think I should keep these to myself."

"But it's okay for a friend to try to eat you?" The boy says and carefully places his bow on the counter of an old table. He isn't going to let go that easily. Chris crosses his arms over his chest eyeing the alcohol. "Why do you even hang out with her? She's so lame."

"I had wolfsbane dust on my hands from helping with her brother's tattoo. She freaked." Alan wiggles the alcohol, happy he had covered-up the bruises from Beth's lunge. "You're the boy looking like Robin Hood. Lameness."

"Watch it. That bow costs more than all of your weed." Chris snatches the offered bottle and drops on the ground next to Alan.

"Fancy." Alan moves to nudge Chris' shoulder. "So how long before you have more insane training? Is daddy planning to drop you in a well and make you climb back out? I'd say learning about horticulture is far less dangerous even with the werewolves."

Chris sighs and relaxes against the wall, welcoming the acrid taste in his mouth. "I don't know. I'm a good shoot already," he says combatively. "And what is more dangerous than weres?"

"Your sister's tantrums." Alan quips as he opens his own beer. His body lounges mostly against Chris, enjoying the nearness even if the hunter always has to bring up his werewolf friends.

The young Argent snorts. "Yeah. Maybe. She's going to lead us all some day, can you imagine?" His head rests against Alan's. "Unless I find a wife first."

"I'll need to find a new profession. She won't stop at shooting the wolves." Alan bites his lower lip as he dares to slip his arm around Chris' lower back.

"Jesus, Alan, she's six. You don't know what she's gonna do when she grows up," Chris snaps. The need to protect his family name ss too deeply ingrained in his mind to allow the comment even from his best friend. "And don't give me some aura bullshit."

Deaton sighs and slides his arm away. "Aura is only part of the problem. There's also the little issue with her enjoying kicking the terrier I was rehabilitating with dad."

Chris puts the bottle down and adverts his eyes. "Whatever. We have our code. You'll still be able to stick over your cauldron as long as you like."

"You know how I loooove witch jokes. Why the hell am I friends with you?" Alan shoves himself off Chris' shoulder. He hates fighting over their families problems.

The corner of Chris' mouth quirks involuntarily. "Witch jokes? You mean you don't really live in a grim ancient house with dessicated animal organs hanging from the ceiling and big cauldron boiling some green substance in the middle?"

"Nope. But I do make some nasty pipe bombs. Oh wait... That's hunters." Alan sasses back with his mouth set in a thin line.

Chris' smile falls from his face at the reminder. "Then why the hell are you friends with me?" He grabs the bottle and takes a large gulp.

"Because when we're not talking supernatural politics you're one of my best friends. But since we can't hang out and have beers without bringing it up I'll just go back and roast up some frog livers."

"Sure. Maybe some of your beisty friend would be a nicer company," Chris regrets it as soon as he says it but his jaw is still set tense and eyes glaring and he is not going to back away, not now, not ever, he's as much an Argent as his sister after all.

"Maybe I should take her up on the offer for diner and the movies." Of course it would have been a 'I'm sorry for accidentally mauling you' date but Chris doesn't need to know that.

"What are you waiting for?" Chris growls and neither of them moves an inch.

"Nothing obviously." Alan snaps, not breaking Chris' gaze. "I'm tired of this. So fucking tired of your bullshit prejudice. If you took a second to look at me, just me and not my family or what yours says..."

Chris snarls in irritation and smashes their lips together, holding Alan's face in place with his hands and waiting for him to submit to the kiss, to stop talking, fighting and seeing other people and be his, his only, to finally see he's Alan's only real friend, the one who wouldn't just lose control and hurt him, who lives to protect people like Alan from monsters.

Alan groans and falls into the kiss. Chris is always like this, stubborn, prideful, and so obsessed with the damned code. The Deatons had been protectors of the ancient knowledge and help to supernatural peoples for generations. He can't understand seeing the wolves as anything but people. He wraps an arm around Chris' neck to keep the man on him. Alan breaks the kiss for a moment. "Shirt off, now."

Chris reaches for the edge of his clothing and pulls it over his head not even complaining about being bossed around. The late fall air cools his skin and he knows that soon they'll have to find a different place for this. If it's going to last, runs through his mind and he attacks Alan's clothes with a new fervor, tearing the shirt from his pants.

The young Deaton knows his friend is going to be on him in no time. "Chris." He traces the thick muscle of Chris' shoulder. He just has to kiss at it before nipping hard enough to leave a mark.

Chris breaths out, fingers clenching on Alan's hips. He rolls his hips, rubbing over the man's groin slowly, careful not to speed things up too much. He wants to devour and taste and make Alan fall apart and remember and still be sour when he meets his werewolves. The already existing bruises earn the dark-skinned boy a warning growl, and Chris teases them viciously with his fingers. "She merely freaked out, is that right?" His voice is low and dangerous and Alan must know he's going to pay for Beth's attack all over again.

The witch smacks Chris across the back of his head. "Bastard. It's fine. I'm fine." He tries to pull away and hide the mottled bruising of his chest. Chris' possessiveness is hot, most days, but not on this issue.

Chris grabs his hands and pins them over Alan's head. "Did you just hit me?" He murmurs against Alan's jaw and scratches over the bone with his teeth. His hips pick up the pace over the other man's. "How rude," he says searing his teeth over Alan's throat.

Alan shivers and arches up under Chris' teeth. The Argent is always intense. Alan bites down on his lower lip. "Yeah... What are you going to do about it?"

"Whatever I want," Chris smiles down on him and leanes back, releasing his arms. "Get your pants off."

"Pushy." Alan fumbles for a moment with his belt. He pushes his hips up toward Chris'. "Help me out."

Chris tugs the jeans harshly off him and cups the bulge in his underwear, massaging it through the material. "Let's see if tonight you're going to blow too soon again," he smiles cruelly and pulls the thin clothing off.

"Asshole." Alan would have loved to deny it, but he's come early more than once under Chris' insistent fingers. "Chris, come on, I need you."

"Of course _now_ you need me," Chris says and leans in to tongue at Alan's stomach. His lips slide around the pubic hair and tease the sensitive flesh of the boy's pelvis. He brings a hand to Alan's cock and presses the organ against his cheek, rubbing it over it.

"Fuck." The witch thrusts up, leaving a line of precome across his cheekbone. Alan's voice drops as his face heats. "Chris. Please."

"What are you asking for?" He looks up at the man with satisfaction.

"Your mouth. On me." Alan's palms press into the ground as he strains to keep himself from fighting back.

Chris lips brush up the hard shaft and caress the glans. He licks it, slowly twirling his tongue around the edge and dipping into the slit. "And what do we say when friends grant our wish?"

"Hurry up, Dickhead?" He can't help it. Alan has always had a snarky streak. His father is the same. You take the world in stride when it has sick werewolves and touchy hunters in it.

Chris smiles against the organ and leans back. His hand closes around it in a loose grip. "How about a 'thank you'?"

"Nah. I don't give gratitude for a job unfinished." He lifts an eyebrow and pushes himself up on his hands.

"Too bad," Chris murmurs and lets his cock out of his hand. He wraps hands around Alan's neck, one thumb resting on his trachea, and he goes back to kissing him, hard and gentle and slow too, changing the angle and pace whenever he likes. He expects Alan to take care of himself when they're like this.

Alan growls, but the sound is lost against Chris' mouth. He nearly loses himself in that place of bliss. His leaking cock keeps him focused. One hand goes between them and cups over Chris' fabric covered cock and presses his heel inward.

Chris' response is instantaneous. He grips the wrist and holds pinned it by Alan's side, the other hand still firm against the boy's throat. He doesn't allow him to touch tonight.

"For fuck sake. It's barely an injury. It was my stupid fault for not washing up after handling the wolfs-bane. I was trying to finish faster so I could get here and see you!"

Chris slides his hand into Alan's hair and grabs a handful, exposing the lean, dark neck. "So it's my fault then? For rushing you up?" He straddles the other boy, their stomachs meet and between them Alan's cock is trapped. Not enough to make him come, but sufficient to torture.

"Nnnn." Alan tries to buck up. He desperately writhes, but the Argent has him pinned too well. "Fuck. Yes."

"Because I let those like her walk around free," Chris accepts the words as a defeat and his teeth come back to bite under Alan's ear, molding his captive's words into a pained yelp. He presses against him, drives his hips back and forth chafing the boy's shaft with his pants. "You can come."

"Hate you. I hate you. I hate you!" Alan seizes under the Argent, coming over his stomach and Chris' pants. For once he plans to have a normal night with the hunter's son. But no, it always descends into this, fighting over ideals and Chris taking control. Still... the bliss that covers his body is worth it.

They lay on the dirty ground afterwards, Alan coming down from the pleasant haze and Chris calms down too. "I'm going to college next summer," he breaks the silence hoping Alan will read it for what it is.

"Going out of state to find that wife?" Alan can't look toward Chris. It is only a short time before the end of their teen years in Beacon Hills. He knew Chris wouldn't stay his for much longer, even if it's what he longs for. "Make sure to check if she has a gun licence."

"I need to broaden my horizons," he repeats his father's words.

"Way to quote, Gerard." Alan knows exactly who's pushing Chris' buttons. "What if I fight? What if I tell everyone what we've done together?"

Chris sits up and looks down on him. Part of him wants to exchange a threat for a threat, the other is stunned at the prospect of being fought for. "Then you could never count on a next time," he says calmly after all.

Alan closes his eyes against the tears. "So, it's lose you now or lose you later. Fine choice you give me."

Chris scoffs, stand up and turns away. He puts his shirt back on, hiding the drying come underneath, and makes sure his voice is harsh enough to hide the broken tone. "You can't lose something you never had, Deaton."

The family name is a slap in the face, a reminder of how little he ever mattered to Chris. Or at least that's what the Argent wants him to believe. He pushes himself up, refusing to be lower than his coward of a former lover. Despite being fully naked, he puts off an aura of calm control. "You're right. I can't have what was never offered. Then of course you can't let yourself give anything to anyone. I do hope you find a wife that fits the life you think you want. Maybe then you'll find a way to be happy in the cage you made."

Chris' fingers still against the buttons of his shirt. The boys stand there, silent and still, until he throws a "See you later, witch." over his shoulder. Chris grabs his arrow and walks away without a second look.

"Let's hope not, hunter."


	3. King Lear

**Title**: King Lear  
**Authors**: **vkdemon** and **karomeled**  
**Fandom**: Teen Wolf  
**Pairing**: Alan Deaton/ Chris Argent  
**Genre**: Angst  
**Rating**: M  
**Words**: 2335  
**Warnings**: discussion of homicide  
**Summary**: _Things spiraled out of control. Chris laughs at the euphemism and it's an ugly, choked sound. _

The love story of Alan and Chris told in five acts.  
**AN**: Part 3 of "For a Lover of Long Ago" series.

_"We have seen the best of our time: machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders, follow us disquietly to our graves." _- Shakespeare : King Lear

Things spiraled out of control. Chris laughs at the euphemism and it's an ugly, choked sound.

Kate's dead. Victoria's dead. Allison... His sweet, perfect Allison has her aunt's eyes: cold and unforgiving. He has no control over his own child, he can't help and sooth and save from the same mistakes he watched his sister make. The Code... He laughs again, shoulders shaking against the glass door of the veterinary. His whole moral guide was a joke.

"The sign must be malfunctioning. We're closed." Deaton heard the door and was alerted to a person approaching far before the distraught hunter walked in.

"Then throw me out," Chris said calmly and flashed a smile.

"What now? Another carcass for me to look at?" Deaton did not return the gesture.

Chris looked at him through half closed lids before tearing himself off the door and marching in. "You fucked him, didn't you. I didn't get it first. But of course you did. Have you miss me this much?"

"What the hell are you talking about? I don't entertain drunken conversations with hunters. Now, leave."

"Jack!" Chris stepped up, swaying a little. "You have a penchant for doomed relationship, don't you?"

"That's a name I haven't heard for years. Yes, I had relations with him. And despite what you thought, it wasn't doomed. He was surprisingly gentle and sweet." He cocked an eyebrow at the swaying man.

Chris chuckled. "Not sweet enough to let people know you were fucking," he sneered and shored himself on the counter separating the hall from reception. "So now what? There aren't any more Argents you can go after in this town. Although I can give you some phone numbers if you're willing to travel."

"I am so very through with Argents." Alan walked forward as he watched Chris stumble. He grabbed the man's arm. Damn his healer's instincts. "You are drunk and picking fights about the long past. Why?"

Chris huffed but leaned on the man. "There's nothing left. Everyone is gone."

"Well then, let's get you a cup of coffee and talk about it." He helped Chris along into the little kitchen area. There was a small table and chair setup for a break room. He deposited Chris there.

Chris sighed and leaned back on the chair, his eyes following the man moving over the small space. "Are you going to poison me?"

"I would have done so years ago if I wanted to." He fixed a coffee black and placed it in front of Chris.

The hunter sighed in agreement. "Maybe you should. Or give me something."

"Why are you here?"

"You know about Victoria?" He asked quietly.

"Yes. I saw it in the paper. My condolences for your grief." The low tone of Alan's voice was sympathetic and sincere.

"I drove the knife in," he said and tentatively took a sip of the scolding dark liquid.

"I assume there was a reason. I doubt depression would ever be the downfall of Victoria Argent."

"She got bit," Chris said simply.

"And we know all about fatalism in the Agent family psychology." He couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice. "Another casualty of this Montague and Capulet feud."

"Allison took it badly," he said as if he didn't hear the man. "She was so upset." He reached for the cup, grasping air for a moment before his fingers closed around the handle.

"Seeing as she had found a way to coexist peacefully with a were-boy, I can understand her dilemma. Do I even need to ask how she was bit?"

"Were-boy...? Ah, Scott. Right." Chris' eyebrows knitted in deep thought and he said slowly. "I think she's going to kill Scott."

"Are you proud?" He frowned, watching Chris' reactions. "This is bothering you, why?"

"Because she really wants Derek. He... bit Victoria. I don't think Allison can stand against Derek and his pups." He raised his eyes to the man. "Will I bury my own daughter, Alan?"

"At this rate... yes." He hadn't heard his first name from Chris' lips since he was 18. It rang bittersweet and out of place. "Derek will not allow hunter to kill his new family. And your daughter is young and untried and blinded by hate."

Chris swallowed hard, his lips twitching in suppressed cry. "I can't do anything. I can't," he says finally, small and broken. "Gerard controls her every thought."

"Chris, what does the code say about hunters who break the code?" Alan's words were carefully measured.

"What...?" Chris snapped out of the haze and looked up at the man. "I... I don't think it says anything. Just that anyone who threatens the peace for selfish reasons shall be treated like enemy." He recites with a shrug. "It's garbage, all of it."

"What do you do to an enemy when they take an innocent life or turn an unwilling person?"

"You know what we do. We kill them."

"Then the solution is simple. You don't want to see it. I'm guessing it was Gerard who killed that wandering omega. And who has preyed upon your daughter's grief to turn her away from the code and being a decent human being." He took the coffee cup and refilled it.

Chris stood up shakily and loomed over the man with a scowl. "So I should kill my own father, that is what you're saying? Because I can't raise my daughter right?"

Deaton looked up into the hunter's face. "I'm saying to kill the disease you isolate the infection. I don't envy you the choice but you have it. Either you watch your daughter become a cruel and heartless killer like Kate or you man up and take responsibility for your family. How can you follow a code that demands you give absolute judgement on life against entire race and yet the atrocities of your own kind is swept under the rug?"

"But I can't just... How? Alan, how can I kill him?" He took hands of the table to rub at his face and stumbled a little. "Please."

"Subtly." He reached up to cup Chris's cheek for a brief moment. "Let the witch make you a brew. I don't think he deserves it, but it won't be too painful."

Chris closed his eyes leaning on the hand. "I'll owe you," he whispered.

"You already do. You've owed me since I let your sister go without facing her crimes." He allowed Chris to continue leaning on his hand. Moments like this he wished caretaking wasn't so deeply ingrained in him. He gently guided Chris to lean forward to take comfort against him.

"She died choking on her own blood." He wrapped the man in an unsteady embrace. "I doubt anything more could be done," he said matter-of-fact. He knew Kate was unstable. He knew that now. She wouldn't regret anything she did.

"I suppose karma does have a way of coming around. I never liked her aura." He let Chris lean against him. It was comforting to Deaton to have a connection, even as fragile and fraught with complications as this one.

"Do you ever just wonder..." Chris said against his neck. "What if I didn't leave?"

"Which time? The one where I kicked you out or the one where you left me?" His voice was still the same steady calm he always took when facing Chris' emotion.

"The first time."

"I don't think about it too much these days..." It was honest, his affection for Chris was young love, strong, but years past. "But it would have been different. You were even more stubborn of an asshole then."

Chris' voice was firm and void of delusions. "We were destined to fail."

"No. We were destined to do nothing at all. I've never believed in destiny or fate. It is all human will. If we had willed it we could have remained together." His smiled turned sad. "At great cost, but such is the balance of life. You give something to get something. I just don't think I was ever going to be worth what you would be losing."

"I guess you weren't." He shoved the man turning away. He stopped short of the door. "He rarely eats food that isn't prepared by him. But he takes medication couple times a day. It's in his jacket."

"I'll make it in pill form then. Oh, and Argent," He called after the retreating hunter. "This isn't for you. I'm doing it for those kids who don't deserve to die in your family's feud."

He rolled his shoulders and crooked his neck. "Later, Alan," he threw over his shoulder before walking out.

"Screw yourself, hunter." Alan huffed.

It took him too long. Sweat dripped down Alan Deaton's temple as he balanced the delicate tincture. He impressed the image of what he wanted to happen to Gerard into the capsule. Blackness... Black blood bubbling from his black heart to consume the man the way his blind hate had destroyed the lives of so many. Kate had not been purely evil. She had been created by this man. He wanted Gerard to suffer like the wolves he riddled with wolfsbane bullets had.

He poured the mountain ash in the capsules to mimic his medicine. Deaton sent one message to Chris. Come.

The Argent appeared on his footsteps 10 minutes later. He waited another 5 before pushing the button. He didn't want to look desperate, like he waited for the contact. He rang the door and when no one answered, walked into the house. "Deaton?"

"It's done." Alan's eyes were ringed with exhaustion. "Here, the pills need to replace with his regular pills."

"You look terrible." Chris eyed the small bottle. "This will work? What did you use?"

"Mountain ash. I don't know exactly what he's planning so I put all of my will into it." Alan sat himself down behind the counter of the front desk. "I just want to sleep."

"I can't do it," the other man said shortly. "Get McCall, or someone. It can't be me."

"What? After all of this you can't do it? You are such a coward." Deaton shoved out of the chair. "This is your family killing innocents and you can't do it?"

"He is my father!" Chris got right up into his face. "And if anything goes wrong, I might lose Allison to him forever!"

"She's not yours anymore. Your wonderful father is turning her into a murderer." He grabbed the vial of pills from Chris' hand. "You were always a coward. I don't know what I expected."

"It's easy to talk, isn't it? Call me a coward?" Chris' voice sound like a warning. "You'd do that to one of your own in my place?"

"Yes. If my own was helping to start a genocide. Absolutely." Deaton growled and pushed Chris' shoulder.

The man shoved him hard at the counter and turned him around to press his forehead into the cold surface. "You should try more polite tone," he ceded right into his ear.

Deaton coughed as he ran into the counter. "Fucking... bully. Coward and a bully as always."

"Bitch. So many years and not even one call." His teeth closed on the exposed neck. He released the man's shoulder and slid his hand over the man's hip to cup his groin under the counter. "You fucking bitch."

Deaton should have expected the wave of lust. And Chris should have expected the pain that bloomed across his face when Deaton slammed his head backward. "Get off of me."

Chris stumbled, releasing the man. He held his jaw with a pained moan. He looked up at the man with wide eyes and said defeated, "Sorry."

Deaton turned and rubbed at his bruised stomach. "Chris. I have been up for the last 48 hours on that Mountain Ash. Are you going to do something other than use me?"

Chris' eyes narrowed. "When had I ever used you?"

"The least you could do is be honest. You made sure I knew how little I meant to you before you left for college. You wanted sex, and you wanted intimacy and you took it from me. Do you have any idea how long it took me to trust anyone?"

"You knew what we had couldn't be real from the start." He said firmly. "I wasn't going to cling to some delusion that our families would allow that to happen."

"So you made it mean nothing. I didn't care it couldn't last. I wanted you for as long as I could have you." Alan's growl turned into an exhausted sigh. "What harm was it to at least have let me know I was more than a convenient warm mouth?"

"And make it all harder?" Chris glared at him before adding finally. "You want me now or not? It's simple."

"No." Alan waved Chris toward the door. "I want someone who can reciprocate feelings. And that is not you. Get out."

"You know there will be no other chance."

"I didn't want this one. You pushed yourself on me, Argent. Stop acting like you're doing me a favor. I don't want you, especially now."

He scoffed. "The least you could do is be honest," he repeated the man's own words and turned to leave.

"If you could stop posturing for a second you'd see you're the one in need." Deaton snarled at the retreating back.

"I'm the one walking away," he said over his shoulder. "That's hardly close to 'in need'. At least not as close as 'desperately trying to keep me from leaving you again'."

"Let's remedy that then." Deaton walked to where Chris stood at his doorway. He pet the nape of Chris' neck once before shoving him out and slamming the door behind him. He smirked out to Chris and tapped the Closed sign before striding into the back of the shop.


	4. Othello

**Title**: Othello  
**Authors**: **vkdemon** and **karomeled**  
**Fandom**: Teen Wolf  
**Pairing**: Alan Deaton/ Chris Argent  
**Genre**: Angst  
**Rating**: M  
**Words**: 2166  
**Warnings**: dub-con  
**Summary**: _Things have changed. Chris laughs at the euphemism and it's a giggling sound not appropriate for a man his age. _

The love story of Alan and Chris told in five acts.  
**AN**: Part 4 of "For a Lover of Long Ago" series.

_"Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul But I do love thee! and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again."_

_/_

"We're meeting at the veterinary clinic," his daughter flashes him a smile, sunny and happy and so very Allison it takes him a moment to gather a reply. He says it's okay and to stay until the curfew.

Things have changed. Chris laughs at the euphemism and it's a giggling sound not appropriate for a man his age.

He has his daughter back. She's happy and with the wereboy. Chris pretends he's okay with it and maybe he even is. Sort of. The old, eventless and small town atmosphere is back in Beacon Hill and they don't have to worry about supernatural killers, which is a nice break.

"Give Deaton my regards," the words sneakily slip through his lips. Before he can change them, Allison is out of the door.

/

Allison only remembers her father words half-way through helping Scott and Deaton feed newborn kittens that had lost their mother. They need food every two hours and there were 6. "Oh! Mr. Deaton, my father wanted me to give his regards."

"Well, that's unexpected of him." Deaton leads a Doberman female who had given birth about 6 months ago to lay down with the kittens. "You can tell him regards are best given in person."

"Sure?" Allison glances at Scott for an explanation of his bosses' strange behavior. The wolf is no help and he's currently cooing over a black and white splotched kitten and misses the entire exchange.

/

He doesn't go to visit after Allison tells him Deaton's reply. Because what could he do? Just go in here and say hi? They have seen each other briefly, at the grocery, or sometimes at the gas station. It's a small town after all.

Chris avoids his daughter every time she say she's going to see Scott at work. She's a smart girl, but love has struck her blind to all else in the world. She rambles about school and Scott and finally she gets back around to Deaton.

"The kittens are getting homes and Deaton is taking one home for himself. You should have seen it, it was adorable. It perched up on his shoulder the whole time he was organizing his shelves."

A glass shatters and Chris has to look down to realize it was his. The pieces are scattered around the floor in an impossible to reconstruct mess and Chris groans in frustration. He never was particularly fond of metaphors.

"Dad? What's going on?" She takes out the broom and dustpan.

"Nothing, love," he answers her question. "Just an old feud that doesn't seem likely to end."

"Is this about Deaton helping Derek and the pack?" Allison frowns. "Maybe you can patch it up? Deaton is a good man."

"I don't doubt it, darling. There's nothing to patch up though."

"If you say so." Allison looks at her father through the corner of her eye. "You know it feels like everything is getting back to normal. Or maybe what normal is supposed to be like. The pack is rebuilding the Hale house. Stiles has family night with his dad every thursday. Mrs. McCall and Mr. Stilinski are dating. Even Deaton has a boyfriend."

His head snaps up so fast he's surprise he doesn't hurt himself. "Deaton has what now?" It comes out nearly as a growl and he can say his daughter is taken aback. He smiles tightly and nods at the clock. "You're going to be late."

"Oh! I have to change. I'll be back before midnight, promise." Allison runs up the stairs to prepare for her date, leaving her father to his thoughts of the past.

/

The bell for the door rings.

"You know I own this place and I don't get overtime. Just once I'd like to go home at a reasonable hour." Deaton grouses as he walks from the back into the front of the shop. "Argent."

"Why, you have someone waiting for you?" He openly glares at the man, challenging him to try denying it.

"Not tonight. Friday is usually the teen date night and the restaurants are filled. We tend to choose Saturday instead." Deaton explains calmly. "There are a few T.V. shows I like to catch tonight if you don't have anything else to say."

"So, when's the happy day? Or are you going to omit me during invitations?" He comes through the reception and stands in front of the man with arms crossed over his chest.

"I don't think a proposal is appropriate during the second week. But, if it makes you feel better, I don't intend to keep you out of the loop when I do marry. You aren't an ex-boyfriend after all."

Chris cocks his head to the side. "Am I not now? Didn't you cry about how I left you and ruined men for you last time we talked?"

"I might be surrounded by teenagers too often. It sounds like we were enacting a lifetime movie script." Deaton keeps his cool, but the corners of his mouth turns down.

"Tell me at least who's the vaguely lucky guy."

"Why? So you can put a bullet in him to check if he's a werewolf?"

"I prefer arrows. The wound can't heal when the fragments are still stuck in the flesh," Chris says lightly. "So which is he? Who are you sucking off, the older Hale or the younger? Not many possibilities in this town."

Deaton smiles without mirth and punches Chris across the face. "I've wanted to do that for years."

The Argent recoils and glares at the man. "Took you long to grow balls and do it." He slams into the man, grabbing at his shoulders and shoving him at the wall.

Deaton grunts and pushes himself away. "I was never the coward of the two of us. What are you doing? Why are you here?"

"I asked you a question." He shoves at the man again.

"I don't feel obliged to answer bullies." Deaton slips his hand into his pocket and his fingers are painted with a blue powder. He brings his hand up and pushes it against Argent's chest. The hunter flies backward into the far wall. "Did you forget my calling?"

The back of Chris' head slams into the hard surface and pain blinds him for a moment. He whimpers trying to get up and blinks rapidly to get the world back to focus. "What did you do to me?"

"Nothing permanent." Deaton shows Chris his fingers. "Just one of the many tricks of this witch. Now leave. My relationship will never be your business."

Chris presses the palm of his left hand to his head hoping to relieve the pounding inside. "I don't want you dating people," he spit out finally.

"I don't care. I'm not yours to control. I haven't been since I was too young to know the difference between caring and controlling." He crosses his arms over his chest. "Are you trying to make me a better offer?"

"I don't even have to try. Whatever wolf you might have is a downgrade, even for you." He gets up on shaking legs, standing wobbly inches from the other man. Whatever the fuck was the powder the witch used, it has to have some effect on his nervous system. He winces trying to tense the muscles in his legs.

"Unlike you, I consider werewolves the same as human as far as dating potential. They even have a little advantage. Possessiveness is in their nature rather than a flaw of their personality. You use the wolves as an excuse. You would be just as stupidly obsessed if it were a human. Hiding behind your hunter's racism again."

He scoffed. "Or maybe I don't enjoy the thought of him losing control and attacking you during full moon. So it's Peter, right? The murderer? For fuck's sake, you must have a self esteem of a teenager to fuck that." He grunts suddenly feeling his knees buckling.

"I fucked you. Peter's a leap up." Alan watches as Chris goes back down. "The spell works as a muscle relaxant. Just stay down."

"Fuck you."

"Not if you paid me."

He smirks and gets up on his knees. At least he can force his upper body to comply. "You make it sound like you've ever been anything but desperate for it." His hands sneak around Deaton's calves, ready to gnaw at them if he were to move.

Deaton looks down and sighs. He lowers himself down to sit on the floor beside the Argent. "Can you stop projecting long enough to tell me what you actually want from me?"

Argent rubs at his eyes. "I want you to fuck off. Leave me alone, finally," he says quietly. "Just... stop."

"I have." Deaton sighs and looks up at the heavens for help. "I have left you alone. And I think that's your problem. You're alone."

"Alan." He says the word soft and timid, as if he's scared of it.

The vet gives an almighty sigh and takes the hunter's hand. He laces their fingers together. "Chris. You are the most stubborn idiot. You ever consider trying something like asking me out?"

"No." He says simply. The veterinarian rolls his eyes but Chris doesn't wait for the response. His fingers tightens over the man's and he leans toward him, cupping his cheek with other hand and forcing it in his direction. He freezes, waiting for Deaton to make the leap.

"I can't do it for you." Deaton lets himself hope, for one moment Chris' palm on his cheek felt like a new start. "I'm not going to make the jump only to watch you let me fall alone again."

"Please..." He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Deaton's.

Alan closes his eyes too. He can feel the heat coming off Chris' body like a furnace. He'd be lying to think he doesn't want Chris. "No, Chris. I'll help you to the car and drive you home."

Home. Chris grimaces. Home, when Allison is surely still on her date, his home with its empty walls and painful memories. He opens his eyes and closes the small distance between their faces. His lips press over Alan's and he sucks on them lightly before breaking the kiss just to trace the upper lip with his tongue, gingerly asking for more.

Deaton never thought Chris was capable of taking that first step. He's unable to stop his body's response. The witches' tongue sweeps over Chris' mouth, opening the man for a deeper kiss.

Chris clunches the man's shirt in his weakened fingers, tugging him closer and shifting to press against him. He pushes at Deaton's chest a moment later, awkwardly balancing on his knees and trying to make him lay down while still fighting the haziness in his mind.

The vet wants it to last forever. But that isn't possible. He breaks the kiss and then presses his lips to Chris' forehead. "I can't."

"Yes, you can," Chris whines. "Please. Alan. Don't just... Please." He bows his head to hide the tears.

"I am truly sorry, Chris. But I'm taken. You know I've always been staunchly monogamous. I can't just abandon what he and I have because you show a moment of progress."

"A moment of progress?" Chris grinds his teeth together. "Okay. Sure. Go back to your wolf, I hope your consolation prize proves worthy." He makes an attempt to stand up and succeeds on second try.

"Let me call you a cab." Alan pulls his cell and moves to support Chris' back. "Chris, would you be able to take me home and introduce me as your lover to Allison?"

Chris stumbles a little and turns to glare at the man. "And what would I tell her? That I had a thing for guys all these years? And that now she's gonna have two daddies?" His voice is pure mockery. "Three months after her mother died? For fuck sake, have some common sense."

"I am. You are still grieving. As it's normal. So is she. Bringing me into your family is going to be disruptive and damaging. So... Now that you know I hold affection for you. And I know you hold it for me. The adult thing to do is to go back to our separate lives with that knowledge and make the most of the future before us."

"Oh, fuck you and your holier than thou speeches," Chris says. "I should have known better than to come here."

"I'm setting you down on the bench outside my office." Deaton ignores the hunter's bitterness.

The man shoves past him and nearly loses his balance. "I can walk on my own."

"If you're found in a ditch I am banning you from my office for the rest of your natural life." Alan deadpans as he positions Chris back on the bench. "Sit or I call Allison."

Argent leans on the wall with a grunt. "Don't."

"Wait for the cab and I won't have to resort to it."


End file.
